


Under a purple sun...

by Perspicacia



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Family Bonding, Gen, Grand Master & Grand Padawan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 21:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14145408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perspicacia/pseuds/Perspicacia
Summary: Ahsoka hadn’t been happy when Skyguy had left her with Master Kenobi for this mission, but it was still good to spend time with her Grand Master.





	Under a purple sun...

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to Countess of Biscuit for the beta!

Prompt: _Padawan!Ahsoka and Obi-wan - any kind of cute bonding moment, happy times!!_

 

“This is useless…” Ahsoka declared. She let herself fall on her back with a dramatically exhausted sigh. They were in a meadow and she suspected a dramatic exhausted sigh would have come off better on the edge of a cliff or in a desolate landscape.

Instead, there were flowers, some small mammals chirped in the tree above them, and even the two suns this planet orbited were shining, casting everything in a purple light for Ahsoka. There had been some misunderstanding the day before when she and Rex were working on the inventory: she had thought he was trying to prank her, until Master Kenobi, slightly exasperated by their bickering, mentioned that stars don’t emit light in only one wavelength and that she and Rex—members of two different species—were probably picking up different wavelengths!

It was still pretty, Ahoska decided, and she was fascinated by the idea that what she saw and what others saw might be different.

She looked a little more closely her Grand Master. She hadn’t been happy when Skyguy had left her with him for this mission, even if (of course) the strategizing Master Kenobi was doing on this world was important and she really couldn’t follow on his own mission…even if the reasons her Master had cited were bantha-shit and should have been replaced with _“Senator Amidala will be there._ _”_

Master Kenobi was busy on his datapad. She could feel him in the Force, not very different in fact from the meadow **:** calm and deep, a little like a lake—whereas Skyguy felt like a summer storm, cleansing and powerful.

What would it feel like? To be human? How could they even go around without walking into walls without the echolocation of montrals? She tried to imagine herself only using her eyes to perceive what was around her **,** but it was too foreign, too alien to comprehend. Her Master and Grand Master had the Force, of course, but they were the exception in the humans, not the norm … and she had never seen Cody or Rex walk into a wall.

Fives, once, but she was pretty sure he had been drunk.

And the hair! What a strange thing it would be, to have hair … a part of you that you cut off! You didn’t cut montrals. Or scales. Or even fur! How bizarre...

“I sense that you aren’t working on your assignment,” Master Kenobi remarked, without ceasing his own work.

“I’m _terrible_ at poetry,” Ahsoka answered with a shrug **.** “I don’t even know _why_ I’m supposed to write poetry!”

“Because your education is important and a few credits in literature are obligatory in the curriculum of a prospective Knight. Diplomats and representative of the Order cannot be _wholly_ absorbed by schematics and battle plans.”

“Anakin is.”

“And yet even he had to take some course he didn’t like—Weequayan Epic Tradition, if memory serves. He complained about it for months. But it’s important to open ourselves to subjects we are not familiar with, as a way to prepare ourselves to reach out to other people, other cultures, during our missions.”

“And you?”

“Well, I _liked_ those courses. I took Wookieean Poetry and Selonian Literature and several others with similar themes. But my Master did make me take an advanced course on ship maintenance and another on acrobatic flying.”

“But you hate flying!”

“I strongly dislike it. And that course didn’t help, if I’m quite honest.”

He shifted more closely towards her.

“May I see what you have written?”

He controlled his expressions, but as he read her work, it wasn’t difficult to read _him_.

“That bad?”

“Points for trying, young one. But I don’t think you’re made to write about the beauty of a drop of water on a leaf. I’m not sure that it is … well, _you_. And poetry, however perfect in the metric, will resonate in your reader only if it comes from within. It can be as technically imperfect as you want, in a way, if the music of it come from your bones. ”

She made a face and he laughed, then searched for something on his datapad.

“Make yourself comfortable and listen.”

He read for what seemed a long time **,** but when she checked a chrono later, she realized they had only spent a moment on the meadow. Yet an entire world had opened for her. Within his voice, epic battles raged, terrible fates befell heroes, and tragedy struck. He had a good voice for narration and she soon forgot about him only to be taken by the text.

When he stopped, her montrals were twitching.

“What was that?!”

“That was poetry, Ahsoka. A very old, very long epic poem written almost twenty-five centuries ago by a Twi’lek woman adopted into a Mandalorian clan, whose name nobody remembers and whose story survives only in that text. Scholars are still battling each other to decide if she really existed **,** or if it’s an even _older_ tradition simply transcribed onto a datapad twenty-five centuries ago. There is an entire group dedicated to proving that she was simply the scribe of a male human poet.”

“I’m not even surprised.”

He took her datapad from the grass and placed it into her hands.

“What will you write about?”

She hesitated.

“About…about Hardcase’s death. The Temple archives all our assignments, so twenty-five centuries from now, if someone reads it, they will know his name. ”

A strange smile spread across her Grand Master’s face. It was at the same time proud … and sad.

Later that night, she found another datapad on her bunk, containing a collection of different forms of poetry from all species across the Republic.


End file.
